


The Curse of the Mummy's Bracelet

by psychomachia



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Golden Age of Hollywood, B-Movies, Multi, Mummies, Murder Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-05 18:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15869166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psychomachia/pseuds/psychomachia
Summary: No one signs up for this shit, but it's pretty inevitable when you're dealing with a group of assholes like them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merit/gifts).



“Oh, Joe,” Betty says, as she sways in the living room, her head nestled on her boyfriend's shoulder. “It's such a lovely night.”

“Betty, darling,” he says. “The night isn't half as lovely as you are.”

She blushes, then frowns, looking around. “Joe, do you hear that?”

“Hear what, Betty?” Joe holds her close. “All I can hear is the crickets outside and the beating of your heart.”

“It's a voice,” she says, trembling. “It's whispering to me.”

“Betty, you're imagining things.” He clasps her hand, and the golden bracelet on it gleams in the moonlight. “It's just the two of us.”

_Give me my bracelet back._

“Joe...”

“I need to go home,” he says. “It's late and the Professor will kill me if he sees me alone with you.”

“My father will understand,” she says. “You're his favorite student. Just stay here until he returns.”

“Betty, I can't. You'll be fine. Just lock the doors and don't answer them.”

_Give me my bracelet back._

They reach the front door. Betty's clinging to him, her hand gripping his arm.

“Don't leave me,” she says as he starts to open the door. “Stay with me.”

He laughs softly. “Don't be silly, you goose. There's nothing out there. You're safe.”

The door opens.

She screams.

A looming figure wrapped in bandages stands before them. It stretches its arm out.

And collapses on the ground, blood pooling around it. A dagger is stuck in its back.

“Well, shit,” Eliot said, as Alice crouched down to peer into the body's face. “Just when we finally got the take right.”

* * *

 

“Let me see if I have this name right?” Detective Henry Fogg said. “The victim's name was Reynard Fox?”

Mayakovsky shrugged. “Who knows? Do I care? No. They tell me he is a famous actor and the studio insists I cast him. It is piece of crap movie, so who gives a shit?”

Detective Fogg shook his head and jotted something down in his notebook. “And the last time you saw him..”

“He was throwing some sort of tantrum in his dressing room,” Mayakovsky shrugged. “He is a prima donna so he does this all the time. I tell him to get the fuck onto set and he ignores me. I tell him to remember his cues and he comes in late. He only gets this job because he is connected to studio head, I hear.”

“Who discovered the body?”

Mayakovsky looks around. “Penny!” He yelled.

“Right here,” a voice said. Fogg turned to see a young, dusky man running up to them. He was annoyed, out of breath, and carrying a stack of papers.

“Deal with this,” Mayakovsky said. “I have to go drink somewhere that isn't here.” He walked off.

“Ass,” Penny muttered, turning to Fogg. “Well, let's get this over with.”

“I was just asking your director who discovered the body,” he said.

“That would be our sweet and lovely screen couple, Eliot Waugh and Alice Quinn. They were doing a scene together when our 'star' stumbled through.”

Fogg didn't miss the disapproval. “You didn't like him?”

“I don't like anyone,” Penny said. “Least of all him. And before you hear it from one of the others, he and I got into it. I don't want to be accused of hiding shit.”

“Go on.”

“So I'm hired just to do props for this stupid movie because even though I've got family in Bombay who's worked on films for decades, none of these assholes trust anyone who isn't lily white. Like that idiot over there.” Penny pointed to a young brown-haired man sitting in a chair, slouched over and reading a book. “You'd think he was some sort of genius, but no, he just lucked his way into it.”

Fogg cleared his throat.

“Yeah, fine,” Penny said. “So I'm doing mindless grunt work when that souse of a director says the actor who plays the thief who gets murdered ten minutes in didn't show up. And where's he going to find some guy to play an Egyptian? The next thing I know, I'm roped into playing greasy Achmed and saying shit, like 'Forgive me, master,” and getting strangled by our dead friend. He squeezed a little too hard, I went off on him, and he laughed at me until I walked away. Because I sure as hell aren't going to get blackballed for laying a hand on him.”

The detective nodded and made a few notes. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, he was a pompous gasbag and I swear he made us retake the scene just so he could mess with me.” Penny's eyes narrowed. “I'm not upset he's dead, but I'm not stupid enough to try it. For that, you could ask the idiot. He wasn't a fan of him either.”

* * *

 

“No, I didn't like him,” Quentin Coldwater said. He was a lanky, floppy-haired youth with a perpetual hangdog expression. One look at him and Fogg could see he was way in over his head. “He wasn't who I pictured for my story at all.”

“Your story?”

“Look, I'm not saying I wrote a masterpiece here.” Quentin's lips were tight and his knuckles were white with tension. “But rewriting this for the studio was going to be my big break. If I could show them I could make something like this successful, they were going to let me adapt one of my own scripts.”

“So what's the problem?” Fogg asked. “Seems to me like having a little bit of star power might help you out.”

“Yeah, if he was willing to work,” Quentin says. “But he wasn't. He was always laughing at us. You could tell he thought all of us were beneath him. We were filming his opening flashbacks and he'd show up hours late, making us all wait for him just to prove he could.”

“And that made you angry?”

Quentin smiled bitterly. “Lots of things make me angry.”

Fogg cleared his throat. “I understand that you spent some time--”

“In a nuthouse,” Quentin interrupted. “Yeah, I bet someone told you about that. Penny?”

“No,” Fogg replied smoothly. “Standard background check going in.”

“Right,” he said. “Yeah, I had some issues when I was younger. Nothing major, but I was in and out for a couple of years. But I wasn't violent or anything. So if anyone's trying to say that I went crazy and killed him, they're wrong.”

“No one's saying that.”

“Yet,” Quentin said. “I know how this shit goes.”

* * *

Alice Quinn was a nervous, shy blonde with corn-fed good looks – a classic girl next door type. It wasn't surprising she'd been cast to play the damsel in distress, Fogg thought. She was the kind of girl any young man would try to save.

“I understand you found the body along with your co-star,” he said gently. “It must have been quite a shock.”

“Oh, it really was,” Alice said. “I'm just so shook up.” Her eyes were brimming with tears. “My first movie and something like this happened.”

Fogg fought the urge to pat her on the shoulder. “Well, I won't ask you too many questions. How well did you know him?”

“Not very well at all,” she said, biting her lip. “I mean, I had seen some of his pictures before but this is my first movie so I don't really know anyone in this town. Besides Quentin.”

“Quentin?”

“He and I entered the studio around the same time. This was going to be both our first real shots at a big-time Hollywood movie.”

“So you were filming with your co-star and the victim came through the set.”

“Yes, it was terrible,” she said. “So much blood.” Her voice quavered. “Detective, could we stop for now? I'm not sure I can answer any more of your questions for the moment.”

Fogg sighed. “Very well, Miss Quinn. Hopefully I won't need to ask you anything further.”

The young woman nodded gratefully. “I'm sure you won't.”

* * *

 

Eliot Waugh, in contrast to his co-star, seemed a bit ill-cast. While he was objectively a good-looking young man, there was something off about him, a loucheness to him that contrasted with the upright, stalwart hero he played on screen. His dressing room was dark, littered with bottles of wine, and it was clear from his slumping body that Mr. Waugh was well on his way to emptying another one.

“Yes, yes,” Eliot said, waving his arm. “Let's get this over with. No, I don't really know anything about Reynard, yes, he was an asshole, and no, I didn't kill him. Are we done now?”

“Hold on,” Fogg said. “It doesn't work like that.”

“Fine,” Eliot said, already sprawled over a chair. “What else do you want to know?”

“You discovered the body along with your co-star, Miss Quinn. She seems very distraught about it.”

Eliot smiled sardonically. “She would, wouldn't she. Yes, I'm sure she's terribly upset. But yes, we both found him. Tragic loss and all that.”

“You don't seem that upset about his death either,” Fogg said. “Did you have problems with him?”

“Who didn't? He pissed off everyone, including his stand-in.”

“Stand-in?”

Eliot waved his hand dismissively. “Some nobody from Iowa or Illinois or one of those states. Got mad, went home on the first day. Would have looked like Reynard if you swapped green eyes for gold, added fifty pounds, and aged up about ten years. So you know, nothing like him.”

Fogg peered at his notebook. “Any idea where this man is?”

“Look,” Eliot said, leaning forward, “if you're making a list of people Reynard pissed off, it would stretch around the world. Why are you even bothering with this anyhow? It's not like anyone's going to be that upset he's gone.”

“Is that an admission of something?”

“More like a statement,” Eliot said. “Just let it go. No one here gives a shit about this man.”

* * *

 

It was a few minutes later and two dressing rooms down when Fogg knocked on the door of Margo Hanson, main villainess, currently not filming any scenes, and known politely as “difficult.” and impolitely as “that bitch who kneed me in the balls.”

“Go away asshole,” yelled a voice from inside the room. “If you're Eliot, I don't care and if you're Quentin, I really don't care right now.”

“Miss Hanson?”

There was a brief flurry of noise inside the room as if someone was tripping over something, a muttered “shit,” and then the door opened. Margo Hanson stood there in all her red silk berobed glory. Her eyelashes fluttered and she smiled, all scarlet lips and pearly white teeth. “What can I do for you, Detective?” she purred.

“I'm sure you've heard that one of your co-stars was found dead.”

“Of course. I was just popping open a bottle of champagne to celebrate.”

“Where were you today?”

“Right to it,” Margo said. “I appreciate someone who could just come out and just ask instead of pussyfooting around. Well...” she pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I was waiting in my room until I could film one of Quentin's delightful dramatic monologues, but Reynard was simply being an overbearing asshole and dragging this shit out. So I was getting ready to go home and come back tomorrow when I heard a scream. Naturally, I thought it was part of the scene. Alice does have a good pair of lungs on her.”

“And you didn't leave your room?”

“Why would I? If I left for every histrionic reaction someone had on set, I'd have worn my heels down to nubs. No, I stayed in here and rang for a bottle of champagne and a club sandwich from our catering. If I'm going to be stuck making horrible movies like this one, I might as well take advantage of anything I can get.”

“Right,” Fogg said. “So you had no interaction with the deceased?”

“Detective.” Margo leaned forward. “I knew the man. I worked with him. I may have even broke a fingernail or two trying to pry his slimy hands off me and the other girls. But I didn't kill him. That would have taken effort that he wasn't worth.”

* * *

 

“Did you want a sandwich?”

“Excuse me?” Fogg said. A bespectacled man in a white uniform stood in front of him. The man wipes his hands nervously with a towel.

“Because I'm going to have to throw out half of this if no one eats this.”

“And you are?”

“Josh Hoberman. I do the catering. But you don't have to really pay that much attention to me,” he said gloomily. “No one ever does.”

“Well, Mr. Hoberman, did you know the victim at all?”

“Not really. I mean, he was a big star and I was just the guy making him the corned beef on rye with mustard and one pickle. Not two, one. If he found two, there's always someone who can make a sandwich. Asshole.”

“Mr--”

“Never changed his order. Could have given him a tuna melt, maybe pastrami, but no. Had to have the same damn thing.”

“Hoberman!”

“I'd like to see him last one day in Yonkers. He'd be eaten alive.”

* * *

 

Fogg nodded to the officer guarding the door, who opened it to let him through. “We already got prints and photos,” the kid said. “Don't think it's gotten out to the press, yet, since the studio's keeping a tight lid on it.”

Inside, Reynard's dressing room was surprisingly clean, considering. No broken glass, no smashed furniture, no signs of any struggle. If he was killed there, the killer had cleaned it up very well. He looked around. “If not here,” he asked out loud, “then where?”

“Sir?” The kid called inside the room. “There's someone here who wants to ask you a question?”

“That's a change,” Fogg murmured. “Send him in.”

“It's her,” a voice said, “just so we're clear.”

A young woman with dark, curly hair walked in. She wore practical, simple clothes and thick work gloves. “Crew?” Fogg guessed.

“Good call,” she said. “Props, along with Penny when Mayakovsky's not forcing him to do half a dozen things he doesn't get paid for. Kady Orloff-Diaz, in case you're wondering.” She reached out her hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong.

“Nice shake.”

She smiled thinly. “Well, someone has to do the physical labor. And they can save money with a woman.”

Fogg's eyebrows lifted. “So what did you want to ask me, Miss Diaz?”

“Well, I was going to see if Reynard had a prop that went missing in his room. It's valuable.”

“If you're looking for a dagger, I believe he's still in possession of it.”

She laughed. “No, he can keep that. I was looking for a bracelet. Gold, has a snake on it with emeralds for eyes.”

“I believe I saw Miss Quinn wearing something similar.”

Diaz shrugged dismissively. “That's the duplicate. Reynard insisted on keeping the original in his room.”

“How much was it worth?”

“About six hundred dollars. We borrowed it to make another one and we were going to give the original back when Reynard insisted he needed to keep it for another week. Said the duplicate didn't have the same feeling.” She rolled her eyes.

“Well, it's not here,” Fogg said. “Did you see it earlier in his possession?”

“You mean, did I take it off his body when I killed him? No, I wouldn't touch him if you paid me. Although--” she trailed off.

Fogg leaned in. “Yes?”

“There was one person paid to touch him. Check with Marina. She would have been one of the last people to see him alive.”

* * *

Detective Fogg checked his notes. Marina Andrieski, costume mistress, recent hire, and known for being both incredibly talented and a "monstrous bitch."

The corridor towards the back costume area was dim. A few bulbs had gone out, so along the way, shadows cast various corners and doorways into darkness. It wouldn't be hard for someone to hide back here. Like a killer.

“Excuse me!”

A mess of sequins, feathers, and fabric barrelled into Fogg, knocking both of them down. There was a moment where he was blinded by darkness, but it turned out to be a black velvet cape, which he threw aside.

“I am so sorry,” a thin, brown-haired woman said. She was harried-looking, picking up scattered costumes here and there. “It's just that I'm running late and I needed to get this to Marina ten minutes ago.”

“And you are?”

“Julia Wicker, her assistant.”

“I wasn't aware she had one.”

Her eyes flickered for a brief moment. “She just hired me. I'm new to the set. Can you get that for me?” She asked, gesturing to a stray golden mask on the floor.

Fogg set it on top of the pile of clothing in her arms. “You seem a little anxious.”

“Well, she's not the easiest person to work for. And with the death of one of our leads--”

“You're aware of that?”

Her face was pained. “I have a friend-- I mean, I know a few people on set.” She adjusted her armful of clothing and began walking.

He set her statement aside for the moment and followed her. “Did you know the victim?”

“Not really,” she said. “I started today, so I hadn't had a chance to meet him.”

“It appears that you may have lucked out on that one.”

She hummed noncommittally.

They reached the doors at the end of the hallway. Miss Wicker kicked the door open with her foot. “Marina?” She called out. “I brought the costumes from the set. I think most of them are intact, but we might have to--”

Her mouth snapped shut and her face paled. The armful of clothing dropped to the floor.

Fogg stepped in front and gently nudged her aside.

He presumed the body laying still in the chair was Marina Andrieski. Her neck lay twisted at an odd angle, her head slumped unnaturally on one shoulder. Her eyes were open, vacantly staring at nothing.

“It looks like I'll have to keep you a bit longer, Miss Wicker,” he said.


	2. Chapter 2

_Fiendish Curse Strikes Film Set!_  
_By Harriet Schiff for Hollywood Scandals_

_Word has it that the latest production by American Artists Cinema is facing not only mortal peril, but that of supernatural as well. Dear reader, you may remember that troubles first started when producer Martin Chatwin was found face-down in his swimming pool. Police ruled it a heart attack, but production of their latest pic, The Curse of the Mummy's Bracelet, was shut down for almost a month._

_Well, now it turns out that the curse may be a little more real than anticipated. We have learned that two more deaths have occurred – that of a costumer on the set, Marina Andrieski, and more shockingly, Reynard Fox, noted star of stage and screen. Witnesses report their bodies gruesomely murdered and left for their shocked colleagues to find. What is going on here? Did the studio summon up a real life mummy to haunt their set?_

* * *

 

“This is unacceptable!” Irene McAllister slammed the newspaper down on her desk, causing several papers to fall to the floor. “I brought you on this case specifically so you could keep it under wraps. This is exactly the kind of publicity I was trying to avoid!”

“I would have thought you wanted this kind of fame,” Henry Fogg dryly said. “After all, isn't free advertising for your picture?”

“A little scandal is one thing,” she retorted. “Two bodies are hardly little. I've got my board asking me why I haven't wrapped this up.”

“Two bodies? So we're not including poor Chatwin in this count?”

McAllister glared at him. “We took care of that one. I just need you to take care of the others. I thought you had a suspect.”

“I have many suspects. Unfortunately, while most are mildly unpleasant and deeply unstable, none of them fit the bill.” Fogg sat down. “You asked me to keep this as tightly under wraps as possible, so I can't do much more investigating without calling in--”

“I understand.” McAllister sat down in her chair. She templed her fingers together. “Then I will make a suggestion.”

“Yes?”

“You will find someone who will fit the bill. I don't care who. Just get someone expendable who's not going to be much of a loss to us.”

“I hardly think--:

“You're not here to think,” she said coolly. “You're here to make this go away. So do your job. Or I'll find someone else to do it for you.”

* * *

“Right, bitches. So this is our problem.”

Quentin stared at Margo blankly. Besides him, Eliot snorted.

Alice raised her hand. “I have a question?”

Margo sighed. “We're all here because I'm been told one of us is going to be set up for murder. None of us are particularly valuable to the studio, and I don't know about you, but I'm not going to prison for using my very well-manicured hands to kill my way to the top.”

“Not like you'd do any form of physical labor,” Eliot murmured.

“You're one to talk. Of course, if it's a particular type we're talking about--”

“All right, well, I don't want to be with any one of you idiots any longer than possible,” Penny said, shifting in his chair. “So what's your plan? Please say it's just saying Quentin did it all and us getting to go to bed instead of being on set at 3 in the morning?”

“You--”

“Shut up, Q,” Margo said. “And you too, Penny. I don't need your shit right now. My plan is we find some evidence to prove that we didn't murder that asshole and turn it into that detective so we're all home free.”

“Sounds solid,” Kady said. “I'll check his dressing room again. If something's hidden there, I'll find it.”

“Take Penny with you,” Margo said.

“Excuse me?”

“We're not doing this shit alone.”

“I can take care of myself,” Kady said.

“Oh, I know you can. But Penny--”

“Screw you, too, Margo.”

“In your dreams,” Margo replied, smiling brightly. “Which I'm sure you have.”

Penny looked like he wanted to protest some more, but Kady had already grabbed his arm and was yanking him away.

Julia, who had been looking quietly at the ground the entire time, looked up. “I can check costumes again. They've opened it up again.”

“Good idea,” Margot said. There was a pregnant pause while everyone looked around. “Someone should probably go with you.”

Quentin shifted in his chair awkwardly. He opened his mouth.

“I'll go with you,” Alice said. “It's fine.”

“You don't have to.” Julia didn't directly look at her.

“I know,” she said, getting up and moving past Quentin as his mouth snapped shut. “But I think this is for the best.”

Quentin watched her leave, his expression unreadable for once. Then he turned to Margot. “So it's the three of us?”

“Actually, it's the two of you,” Margo replied. “You and Eliot are going to go check out his motel room.”

“Of course,” Eliot said. “You want to give us the hard shit.”

“If you don't think you can handle finding a way to get into his room, I could always give it to someone with balls. Like Kady. Or myself.”

“Sure,” Quentin said. “Let's just do this. She's going to keep bitching at us otherwise.”

“I always knew you were a smart boy.” Margo patted his cheek.

“So what are you going to do?” Eliot said. “Take a bubble bath and drink some wine while taking credit for any discovery we find?”

“You know me so well.”

* * *

 

“Listen,” Kady said, as she bent down to pick the lock on the dressing room door. The tape that had secured it lay ripped on the floor. “I know this is a terrible situation and we're working with idiots, but you need to keep it together.”

“I am keeping it--”

“No,” she said. “You're not. I get it.”

“Then why aren't you angrier?” Penny snapped. “We're just as good as them, and what are we doing? Keeping track of shit they can't be bothered to remember? Getting paid less than them? Being told to run around and fix everything they break?”

“Don't forget getting blackmailed to help them steal shit from sets?” Kady smiled wryly as the lock clicked open. “Because I'm pretty sure if that little fact came out, you and I would jump to the top of the suspects list.”

“And to think I just thought not being a lily white Midwesterner would do the trick.” Penny reached out a hand and she took it, boosting herself up. “The only reason we're not behind bars for that is that detective and I still can't figure that one out.”

“What can I say?” Kady said, shining her flashlight into the room. Large mirrors bounced the beam around, creating a crazy patchwork of light and shadow. “Maybe we're just charming people.”

Penny snorted. “Charming.”

“Well, it worked on you.” They walked further into the room. “They cleaned this place out, didn't they?”

The room was empty of personal affects. A chair lay overturned on the floor and Penny righted it. “So are we going to start ripping furniture apart? Pounding the walls looking for secret passages?”

“Do you really think we're in that kind of movie?” Kady started looking in the dressing room tables, opening drawers and peering to the back of them.

He shrugged and peered down at the carpet with his own flashlight. “No blood,” he said. “Wherever he was killed, it wasn't here.”

“Strange, too, since he went directly from his room to set. Never talked to anyone on the way from what I heard. Not like any of us were good enough for him.” She paused. “Well--”

Penny stood up and walked over to the closet, leaving her to keep the thought unfinished. He opened the door. Empty, too. Except--

He craned his neck up. “Now what is this?”

At the very top, so hidden someone might easily miss it, was a button. “If this is a horrible idea, let me know.”

“Let you know?”

He pressed the button. The back of the closet swung open into darkness. He shined his flashlight into it, but wherever the passage led to, it didn't penetrate very far.

“So I guess it is that kind of movie,” Kady said. 

* * *

 

“I'm sorry,” Julia said, as she opened the doors. Inside the darkness, her flashlight lighted up sparkles of sequins, gleams of gold. “I know you don't want to hear that, but I am sorry.”

Alice sighed. “I know you are. We all know you are.”

“But it doesn't matter, does it?” She ran her hand along rows of costumes, hangers banging gently along the rack. “Because now we're in the situation we're in.”

“I'm not going to judge you,” Alice said. “The old me might have.”

“No, she wouldn't have. That's one of the things I'm sure Quentin loves about you.”

“Do we really have to talk about him?”

“No,” Julia said. “I'm actually regretting mentioning him now.”

They shared a moment of silence – and mutual commiseration, before Alice spoke up again. “I don't know what you went through with Reynard, and you don't have to tell me, but I'm not going to blame you for doing anything you could to get revenge.”

“I just regret--” Julia trailed off. “I regret you had to do what you did.” She walked to another rack, peering at each item.

“I could regret it too,” Alice said. “But Martin's gone now. I'm not the same person I was. No amount of pleading or guilt is going to change that. And I'm not talking about myself. ”

“You know he's not going to accept that.”

“It's not his decision to make.” Alice's flashlight shone on a crumpled piece of fabric in the corner and she walked over to it, bending down to examine it. “And it never should have been.”

“Sorry we brought him up again,” Julia walked over to her. “What did you find?”

“Just some of the bandages from the costume. Looks like they came off it.”

“They're ripped,” Julia said. She guided her flashlight along the wall. “That's strange. There's threads stuck in this wall.”

Alice backed away. “Do you hear something?”

Julia frowned. It was a faint creaking, followed by--

“Are those voices?”

The wall opened outwards and two bodies fell forward. Thankfully for all in the room, both were still breathing, slightly mussed, and a little too reluctant to disentangle. Julia kept her flashlight trained on them.

“Sorry.” Penny didn't look apologetic at all. In fact he looked almost—happy? At once, everyone else in the room looked disturbed.

“Damn,” Kady said. “Well, that was unexpected.”

“I'd say so,” Alice replied. “This does explain a few things.” She and Julia helped them get to their feet.

“As does this.” Kady handed what appeared to be a handful of hair and glue to Julia. “There's more shit in the passage we found.”

“Mummy's curse, my ass,” Penny said.

* * *

 

“You'd think for a famous actor like Reynard, he would have stayed in a better place than this. Not this dump,” Eliot said, looking around with distaste at the seedy motel. “It has a certain squalid charm, but I was expecting a penthouse.”

“He wasn't really a very good actor.”

“You always say the nicest things.”

“I'm pretty sure you're the one with the silver tongue,” Quentin said. “I'm still not entirely sure how you got the key from the clerk.”

“It's not that hard when you're as delightful as me,” Eliot replied. “A few compliments, a smile or too--”

“You bribed him.”

“I bribed him,” he admitted, opening the door with the key. “And Margo owes me five dollars.”

“Good luck collecting that.” Quentin stepped in, Eliot shutting the door behind them.

There wasn't much to see in the room. The bed was a mess of sheets and a worn blanket. The nightstand held nothing but a Bible and part of a very ancient tuna melt whose odor made both of them recoil. There were no suitcases and nothing in the wardrobe.

“Why didn't the cops come here?”

Eliot shook his head. “It's not under his real name. Julia let Margo know he often booked rooms under the name Richard Lobo. Anyhow, the detective didn't strike me as the most observant.”

Quentin looked panicked. “It's just—none of this makes sense. I mean, the studio doesn't seem that broken up about one of their biggest stars dying, we're being relied on to do the legwork, and it's entirely possible one of us is going to go to jail for two murders none of us committed. Am I the only one that might be deeply worried about this?”

“Yes,” Eliot was gazing directly at him. “That's what we love about you.”

“Right,” Quentin said. “Glad we got that cleared up.”

And then he kissed Eliot. It was an awkward kiss, their noses bumping, and he pulled away sheepishly.

Eliot stared at him for a moment and Quentin's uneasiness grew. “Look,” he said, putting up his hands. “I'm sorry. I know you just got divorced and the studio's not happy about it and this is the worst time to--”

Eliot was a much better kisser. Quentin dropped his arms to Eliot's shoulders and let Eliot take control. It turned out his tongue was pretty good when it wasn't talking, too.

He could have let himself get lost in it, but Eliot pulled back. Quentin was panting.

“What was that?” Eliot asked. “It sounded like--”

“Is there someone outside?” Quentin panicked. “If it's the police--”

Eliot was already walking to the door. “Then I'll explain what--” He stopped and sniffed the air.

“What?” Quentin hissed.

“I have good news and bad news. The good news I don't think we're getting arrested tonight. The bad news is it's probably because we're going to be the next victims.”

Quentin ran over and it quickly became evident to him just what Eliot was talking about. “Someone set the room on fire.”

“Yes. And I don't think it was the clerk's way of asking us politely to get out.” Eliot pulled aside a curtain. Flames were shooting from outside the window. “Well, that's nice. He's covered all his bases.”

They both crouched on the ground. “Well, this is just great,” Quentin said. “We're about to be cooked well-done, the studio's going to blame it on us, and Penny will probably throw a barbecue just to be a spiteful son of a bitch.”

“Honestly, I think he likes you.” Eliot winked. “How could he not?”

“You're an ass,” Quentin said, smiling. He took his hand and gripped it.

Eliot gripped it back. They were practically laying on the floor. “The worst part is that I never--”

There was a pounding at the door.

They looked at each other.

The wood began to splinter as the door started bowing. Someone was definitely attacking the door.

“Is that an axe?”

“Oh, good,” Eliot said faintly. “Now the nightmare is complete.”

With a rush of force, the door broke open.

Margo stood there, looking irritated. “You assholes owe me a new manicure.”

* * *

 

“You used as bait,” Quentin shrieked. “Seriously?”

“Well, I couldn't tell you that I thought he might follow you,” Margo said. “I mean, Eliot's a good actor--”

“Thank you for the compliment.”

She smiled, turning to Quentin. “But you're shit at pretending to be something you're not, which is rather adorable if someone's trying to trip you into bed, but infuriating if we're trying to draw out a killer.”

“But--” he sputtered.

“She's not wrong,” Alice said. “And just so we're on the same page, we all know the killer's Reynard, right? He faked his death, killed his stand-in, and is hiding somewhere probably waiting to kill us all when the time is right.”

She looked briefly at Julia, who had her head bowed low. Everyone else nodded.

“Figured it out from the disguise.” Kady was sprawled out near Penny on one of the couches they had dragged into the room. “Nothing like a bit of spirit gum and a lot of padding.”

“Not to mention the whole secret passage from his dressing room to costumes,” Penny added. “Kind of a dead giveaway.”

“Of course,” Julia said. Her mouth was twisted almost into a smile if it weren't too bitter to really be called one. “He loves tricks.”

“And I knew it wasn't him from the start,” Margo said smugly, “because that asshole never resisted the urge to ham it up on set. No way he dies without giving some sort of pretentious death monologue.”

Eliot draped his hand on her shoulder. “So why not give him the opportunity to give one?”

They exchanged conspiratorial looks, and Penny rolled his eyes. “I already know I'm going to hate this,” he said.

“Again, you hate everything, Penny, so that's not saying much,” Quentin replied.

“Remind me why we didn't just let you take the fall?”

“Now children,” Eliot said. “We're not here to fight. We're here to get our lives back to—well, slightly better than they were before all the murders.”

“We have a plan for that,” Alice said. “And I'm sure it'll work.”

There was the sound of someone tapping his foot impatiently.

“Great, great, everyone's figured it out,” Josh said. “Now will you all get out of my house so I can go to bed?”


	3. Chapter 3

The set is quiet. No bickering voices, no dramatic proclamations, no swelling music to mark the end of a scene.

There is lighting – three spotlights set up to illuminate whomever might be stepping onto the Egyptian sands. Of course, it's barren for now, save a hastily put together crypt made of wood and plaster, and a few scattered palm fronds. In a movie, no one would think it Egypt.

But it's only meant for one person tonight.

“Alas,” a voice calls out, “it appears that my plans are to be foiled yet again. For although my plan to steal the bracelet has succeeded, it has fallen into the wrong hands and marked another as the mummy's bride.”

Queen Thema steps into the hot Egyptian sun. She is an exotic beauty, who until now has been masquerading as Zahra, an assistant curator helping Joe and Betty break the curse. But now! Her evil has been made plain!

“This is such crap,” Penny mutters. “And you get paid for it.”

“Be quiet,” Quentin hisses back. “I'm a writer. It's not that much money.”

“And so,” Thema says, drowning them out because they need to shut the hell up, “you will pay for taking possession of what is rightfully mine.”

Betty and Joe are brought struggling onto set by dark, hooded figures that are also strangely trying to elbow each other until Thema's imperious glare makes them subside. “You'll never get away with this,” Joe manfully says.

“Your evil will be brought into the light of day!” Betty adds, her eyes brimming with tears. “For true love conquers all.”

Thema laughs mockingly. “True love? Speak not to me of love, for mine has laid cold and dead in the tomb for centuries. Now, thanks to the bracelet my servants took from you, we will be reunited again.”

There is the sound of soft footsteps coming forward. Kady and Julia brace themselves.

“Come forth, my pharaoh!” Thema calls.

The footsteps come closer.

“Reclaim what is yours!”

A shambling figure emerges onto the set. Bound entirely in bandages, its hands are red with blood. On its left hand is a bracelet, far more ornate than the cheap imitation lying on a table in the props department.

“So he had it?” Julia whispers to Kady.

“Of course,” she says. “Remind me to punch him for that too.”

The mummy moves closer, and under the blazing lights, it looks even more disturbing. Rusty spots dot its yellowing bandages and there is an odor of decay.

“Any minute,” Margo mutters. “Give your stupid--”

_I have traveled through the tomb, dark and lonely ground. I am here now. I have come. I see. In the underworld, I embraced my father. I have burned away his darkness. I am his beloved. I have killed the snake. I have given him meat. I walk in my sleep through earth and heaven._

The words ring in everyone's heads, but they sound strange, as if spoken directly into their minds rather than their ears.

“Something's not right,” Quentin manages to say.

A smell of spice and a warm wind fills the room.

“I'm going with this is some weird shit I want no part of it,” Penny replies. It's one of the rare moments where Penny and Quentin find themselves in complete agreement.

_I have set the sky in two parts. I pass through. I wander the horizons. I have dusted my feet with earth. I have worn the skin of a black panther and chanted into the ears of children. I eat with my mouth. I chew with my jaw. I am a living god come forth. I am with the earth millions of years._

The lights on set, impossibly get brighter.

It is almost impossible to see anything, and they all close their eyes against the blinding white.

There is a roaring sound in their ears, a cry of a bird, and then silence. When they open their eyes, the lights are normal. The mummy is gone.

“So does someone want to explain that?” Quentin asks, pulling back his hood. “Because I don't.”

Alice opens her mouth, then shuts it. Eventually, she says. “I could give you some mythological references, but let's just go with I have no idea what happened.”

“We're clear that wasn't Reynard, right?” Eliot stretches her arms and looks around. “I mean, the speech was pretty dramatic.”

“Yes.” Margo's voice is softer than usual. “But it's not his style.”

“So if that's not Reynard,” Penny says, “then where the hell is he?”

“I think we may find out the answer to that,” Kady says, “but it won't be pretty.”

* * *

 

Once again, the costume department is a gory scene.

The body is gruesomely mangled, but the face is still relatively intact, enough that Reynard's face is unmistakable. The costume he's wearing is ripped, bandages frayed and torn to get to the skin below.

His left hand is missing.

“I'm going to guess that was the one he wore the bracelet on,” Alice says. “But I'm not going to speculate any further.”

“Right,” Quentin agrees. “Because then we'd have to accept that mummies exist and curses are real and we're not going to think any further about it.”

“There is not enough alcohol in the world to make this go away.” Eliot's sitting between Margo and Quentin on the floor, supported by both. He has one hand on Quentin's thigh. “But I'm going to make a valiant attempt.”

Kady and Penny, heads nestled together, nod in agreement.

“That still leaves us with one problem,” Julia says.

“Don't say it.” Margo's already pulled a flask out of her purse and is proceeding to unscrew it. “I need to get drunk first.”

“How the hell are we going to explain this one to the police?”

* * *

 

_Curse Lifted? Mummy's Bracelet Back on Track!_  
_By Harriet Schiff for Hollywood Scandals_

_It appears that the curse may have been broken. Days after announcing the tragic suicide of their troubled star, Reynard Fox, over his love triangle with a costume mistress and a fellow actor, American Artists Cinema has sent word that production has resumed on their pic, The Curse of the Mummy's Bracelet._

_“We are pleased to announce that shooting will recommence for an autumn release,” studio head Irene McAllister said in a press release. “Thanks to the diligent work of our fine police force and the enthusiasm of everyone who works for us, we have put aside these troubles to dedicate ourselves fully to doing what we do best: making quality pictures for all audiences._

_It is reported that William Adiyodi, son of noted Indian film star Vihaan Adiyodi,has taken over the role of the titular mummy. “To encourage such a promising talent is extremely exciting and we look forward to a wonderful new career," McAllister added, when asked about it. "We appreciate all of our bright new youth in whatever they may choose to do."_

_In related AAC news, it appears that novice screenwriter, J. Wicker, has signed with the company to write a script for their next monster pic, The Horror of The Vampire's Kiss._

_The Curse of the Mummy's Bracelet also stars Eliot Waugh, Margo Hanson, and Alice Quinn. It is expected to open sometime in October._

**Author's Note:**

> I like to think the studio heard Lee Ross' "The Mummy's Bracelet," thought "let's rip that off for our mummy movie," and things just progressed from there. At least it's a fun song.
> 
> The mummy's dialogue comes from The Egyptian Book of the Dead - Alice would recognize it, of course.


End file.
